


Compressive

by RectifiedPear



Category: Lady and the Tramp (1955)
Genre: Abandonment, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adoption, Animals, Bad News, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Character Growth, Distance, Economics, Economy changes, F/F, F/M, Financial Issues, Homelessness, Implied animal abuse, Long-Distance Friendship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Married Life, Money, Moving, Moving On, Moving Out, Post-Betrayal, Post-Canon, Reality, Rehoming, Romantic Angst, Romantic Tension, Seperation, Short Chapters, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Tension, Unresolved problems, Violence, anger issues, homlessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-01-07 07:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18405809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RectifiedPear/pseuds/RectifiedPear
Summary: Things don't always go according to plan, and sometimes it all has to change. Sometimes it's not okay, sometimes changes make you mad. There are many forms of anger, resentment, and emotions overall, some simmer down, some just linger, and some build up.Post-canon Scamp's Adventure.





	1. Prelude

There was a heat in his bones, a feeling that radiated like the sun off the rocks and bricks. Concrete and red stones singed his paw pads as he strode along. Body a mess of tension and anger. Wounds healed over, the heat was waning into a cooler afternoon with each day. Soon it might cool, fall the humans called it. When leaves... well, fell, from trees. 

Alone with his thoughts he'd tried to scheme, to plot, to plan. To make a mountain out of less than a molehill and build up from nothing. It was going poorly lately. A messy series of mixed signals and the knowledge to stay with his head kept low. Dogs were vanishing, or speaking of crazy things. Humans with females and humans who picked specific dogs and took them away. He'd bore a wicked smile of jovial indifference the day he'd seen an ex-friend hauled off. They looked scared, hands upon their scruff as they were dragged off, a muzzle muffling their cries.

He'd not seen them since. Good riddance. His comrades had once used him as a shield, a bigger dog with bigger teeth. A dog trained to defend a family and a yard. They'd used him, and back then, he had let them. No more would he.

No puddles remained for him to soak his paws in, no nothing. Buster walked on chaffed pads with his anger numbing his feet. It was like the others to vanish, he hoped several had really gotten a good look at the pound, and known their mortality before they went to through the gates. 

Again he circled the area, again he smelled the dimming scent of Angel near one of their old places they spent together. She'd had experience, influence, and age to her, a year beneath her fur despite the trims. Buster's lip curled at the idea of her fluffy and unkempt. She'd been with him only a few months. Enough to almost matter, but she had chosen.

As had Scamp. 

He wanted to bite down on the puppy's scruff and shake him roughly next chance he got. Didn't humans walk their dogs? Shame he'd never gotten his chance to bite one, to strike down those who had Tramp and his Lady. Maybe if there were no humans, they'd open their eyes. 

Once more, he circled.

His stomach ached, and he turned to the dumpsters. Stale food and plastic wrapped sandwiches filled his gut. The stray crumbs of cookies and dropped snacks from behind a building was more than enough for him. A half of a chicken was there, smelly, but delicious. He made a note to look around for people picnicking and selling food. He'd seen dogs steal entire ropes of sausages before. He'd have to try it.

 _Tramp always scored the best food._ Mood soured despite the meal, Buster dropped to a crouch and snorted the dirt.

 _Stop sulking, he's not coming back, neither of them are._ His ears pulled back, a growl hot on his throat as he twitched and moved about in the dirt, claws hooking upon brick and mortar. _Traitors! Like father like son!_

He wanted to see them, wanted to bite and scratch them, to throw them both into the trash as they had him! Buster growled and shook with fury, rage tainting the chicken and sugar on his tongue into a foul mixture. He'd get back at Tramp! He'd show him! Maybe not today, but soon! He had to! Nothing fueled him besides the need to strike back, to harm what was Tramp's! _Angel's gone, Scamparooni's gone, you're gone. You're going to pay!_

He bounced to his feet, teeth snapping at air and body moving languid. Buster took off with a huff, back towards his junkyard to wait, to plan. He'd show them, he'd make them all regret it! It wouldn't be long. Things had to happen. Cocking a leg mid-stride, he marked his turf on a yard with a sign. Half the houses and yards were full of signs. 

Buster decided he'd wait. Wait and watch. His day would come. It would be a glorious day. Fall would bring with it the blood-red leaves and colors of a fire, and on the cusp of fall, would come a change. He didn't know how quite fully, but he knew it was coming. He'd seen the vans, the vehicles. The silence they left when they pulled away. There was a change coming. His junkyard was even more quiet. Fewer dogs roamed the alleys, even the zoo, last he'd been there, was different. 

A new world was coming. Something was happening. He wasn't the brightest, nor did he understand humans the best – better than Tramp, sure – but he knew something was up. It was all coming to a sharp point. 

All he needed to do was lie low, wait. It would all come to be in his favor.


	2. Chapter 2

Lady's ears lifted as the pair of voices that belonged to her owners picked up sound once more. Beside her, the pups(barely pups anymore, but she wanted to pretend) were playing with Jim Jr who crawl-walked in circles and made cooing sounds. He'd throw toys and clap his hands as one of the sisters fetched. Sometimes Scamp or Angel would jump down from window sills where they gazed outside and exchanged soft whispers and fetch a toy. Scamp was clearly loved most for doing this, as Jim Jr would latch onto him and coo his name.

It was not the first time Jim Dear and Darling's exchanges had pulled her from her focus on her family. Tramp was asleep in the sunlight, yet moved his legs away as the pups and human child played, snoring loudly. This had been occurring more and more often, something that stood out to Lady.

She pulled aside from the barking puppies of hers and her owner's child. Absence barely noted. Even Angel's attention did not drift. They'd been bonding a lot, but it was clumsy and weird. Angel had been aged more than her looks said. Five homes had told Lady there was more to Scamp's crush. Perhaps it was the reverse of what she had for Tramp, he was older than her, not terribly so, but enough it could be remarked on by other dogs.

They didn't really talk to many other dogs. Their kids did, but Lady found most of them to have mouths that repulsed her into a corner.

The door was ajar when she came to it. Their tones were abrasive and mean, like when they'd been house training the pups and when they'd first met Tramp. She'd heard them be like this before, when Jim Jr was still within Darling's stomach. He'd made Darling a mad mess of anger and hormones that lashed out and raged. Lady had never seen an animal so mad to have a pup within themselves. Darling had almost spent half the pregnancy yelling, and Jim Dear had spent the other half passive. 

Were her owners expecting again? 

She peered in through the crack. Piles of papers were out of a brown box-shaped thing Jim Dear took with him, it was split open with more papers inside, some neat, but others spilling out. Were the papers angering them? She hesitated. 

Lady wanted to walk inside and grab them all – if she could possibly grab that many – and shake her head until they were torn to ribbons. Scamp had followed his father's lead in ripping the newspaper whenever it made Jim Dear make faces like he was now. But the anger was pained as well. She couldn't understand. Had they gotten those things called paper cuts? Did they need someone to lick the wounds clean? 

No bandages were sported around their fingers. Their wedding rings glinted in the lamp light as they moved their hands. Darling was folding clothes, several of Jim Jr's. A needle caught and shone, thread pulled behind it. She was mending it. Lady knew what sewing was, hours beside the human had taught her that most anything could be fixed. Her tone was soft, lowered, like her head. Tipped downward as she worked thread along yellow fabric.

It didn't make sense. Jim Dear wasn't as relaxed, he was tense, a mess of nerves. His mustache was fiddled with, twisted, tweaked. He looked at the papers. Began to pile them up, count them out. They were from places. Lady knew of mailmen, post offices, boxes, and air mail, they were words she barely got. These places that Jim Dear spoke of were weird, and had odd sounding names as he sorted them into piles. One for a place with a hard sounding name, like what was used to split wood in fall. One from a place she'd never heard of, but as they talked, it sounded more like a person. How had a person sent this many letters?

Darling's lips became thin lines, she tilted her head, forced a smile and soothing words as Jim Dear snapped. Lady drew back. She wasn't sure where the anger was at. What was wrong with her humans? Did they need her? She fussed, collar tags jingling, but unnoticed. As Darling's tone raised to almost match his, Lady pushed the door open and walked inside.

It did nothing to ease the tension. Both looked at her, gave her a smile she knew was forced and false – she'd seen so many of _those smiles_ while watching from the other side of the door – and she was lifted to the bed to rest beside Darling. The sewing didn't cease, their words didn't stop. She did her best to wag her tail and look clueless. 

Here she could hear every word better, contemplate it, weigh it upon her tiny heart. But what good would it do her? Humans didn't understand dogs like dogs understood humans. The speech gap left her a third party unable to give input beyond barks and tail wags. She crossed her paws, rested her head, and batted her eyes. A proper dog, a proper Lady. She had to be there for her humans. 

Even if being there for them meant being caught between them as they were angry and upset over things she could not understand.


	3. Chapter 3

“Jim Dear.”

Lady's eyes open, their talk has been happening for hours. They haven't checked the baby, or her puppies, or Tramp, or Angel. All they've done is talk about sizes and yard lengths and words she doesn't understand. The sewing has been finished for a long time now as well. Darling's hands rest in her lap, a pile of folded clothes tucked into a bag carried along so it bounces on her hip during walks with Jim Jr.

“There must be some way...”

“If there is, it's not here, it can't be found. Darling, we've been over these papers five times now.”

Darling becomes crestfallen, a slight shine of denial that is being washed out. Jim Dear doesn't hold a hard tone, more resigned. His expression now reminds Lady of a time when Scamp was younger, a small teething dog, and both of Jim Dear's slippers were ribbons around a hard footing. He'd made the face before they were dropped into the trash and Scamp had been cornered by Tramp, who had been rougher on discipline. In her mate's eyes she'd seen fear, Jim Dear's eyes were not as scared, more concerned. 

“So that's that then?”

“I'm afraid it is.”

“What are we going to do about...” again she trailed off, eyes going to Lady, hand petting along ears and running along her back.

She really, _really_ did not like this. Were they speaking of her? What had she done? She'd been a good dog! What if they meant her pups! That couldn't be it, could it? No, she had to be imagining it –

“The numbers don't lie, the bills don't lie, none of these,” letters were dropped beside the spaniel, making her turn and stare upon the squiggly lines and looped letters in vain. She couldn't read, it was such small print. Darling reached around her and picked them up to shuffle. “Reality is only two are going to be around when this is all over.”

 _Two what? Is Darling really pregnant?_ She didn't have the smell she had before. Something she remembered from the past. Humans and animals both had a smell to them when pregnant. Much like they did during certain seasons. 

Darling's hands cover her mouth, as if this was a terrible mess upon the floor. Lady found the temptation to shred the letters and their envelopes come once more to a forefront. How dare these pieces of paper cause her owner such distress! What mean words were they saying to her people?!

She pressed herself into the palms of Darling's hands, tail wagging vigorously before she sat atop the letters(wishing they could become potty training material for when the people slept in late on weekends), and reared up to lick both hands and chin. She was rewarded with pets, a nervous, breathy laugh, and contact. Held close, she felt another pair of hands come to pet her. Cooed soft mutterings of her name as she was brought between them and adored.

She basked in the affection, whipping tail beating about and tongue lolling from her mouth. She'd known them her whole life, and she was going to make this right! She had to, that's what dogs did!

When it was done, they dabbed at their faces where she'd licked with a handkerchief and straightened up. Sobering but not looking as bitter and upset as they had. She'd made things better. 

Lady puffed out her chest and looked adoringly from one to the other.

They gazed upon her, hands moving to pet. An agreement flashed between them both.

“Lady can stay.”

 _Stay? Stay where? Here? Why am I staying? Is that a command? Who's leaving?_ Her whines were muffled, it was rude and annoying to humans if a dog whined.

“Jim Jr is attached to Scamp. I can't imagine how he'd handle Scamp not being beside him growing up. They even sleep together.”

“I know, Darling.”

“It would be good for him, a new place, school some time soon, to have Scamp by his side as he grows.”

Lady agreed with this, how sweet her people wanted their kid to be friends with hers, and for a long time too, they really cared.

“Aunt Sarah can handle the girls for awhile.” 

Lady blinked, that was a weird statement. Though Annette, Colette, and Danielle could definitely handle themselves around Si and Am, especially since the cats had experienced what happened when they were not warm and welcoming. Colette and Annette had almost gotten along perfectly with the two Siamese felines before. Maybe they'd have a fun time there like the humans were planning. She'd have to tell them before they went over to be on their best behavior and mind their manners.

Jim Dear straightened himself up as he sat upon the bed, thinking about it. “You sure?

“She adores Lady's pups – and Angel can go with them!”

“You think she knows enough people who might...”

“Jim Dear, you said it yourself, there's no way around this.”

He nodded, a soft, 'right, right', their gaze lingered upon the open case and some of the letters inside of it, then upon those that rested in Darling's lap.

“What will become of Tramp then?”

 _What will become of–?_ Lady didn't understand that sentence. A feeling of dread pooled within her, what were they actually talking about? She thought upon it, tremors going through her. 

“Aunt Sarah definitely won't take him off our hands.”

_Off your hands?_

Lady's eyes became saucers, she shook, so hard Darling began to pet her.  


“I guess we'll have to leave him behind and hope for the best.”

“Jim Dear!”

“Darling, the only other option is the pound. He's an older dog. What else can we do?”

Silence lingered. Darling dipped her head. “I suppose, he did fare on the streets before us...”

The world spun under her four paws. Lady forgot how dogs were meant to breathe. This didn't make sense, none of this was making sense. Her people wouldn't, they would never – no, no, she had to have misheard!

_No._

_No!_


	4. Chapter 4

Lady flung herself off the bed, she could not bare to hear anymore of this. Her owners were casting off her kids, her kids' friend, and worst of all, her mate! She knew dogs were handled and cared for by man and made for unconditional love, but her heart felt torn between them all. Scamp and her were going to be leaving their family behind! What would Tramp think of this? Oh, she simply had to tell him!

Her humans made no move to follow her, behind her, the sound of their voices lowered then raising anew could be picked up by her bouncing ears as she made around the hallway and towards the kitchen, the living room was nearby. She gasped in ways she wasn't sure were normal. Walks and runs had never made her shake so hard. Around her all three daughters asked her what was wrong, moving into her path and asking her if she'd seen a ghost. Jim Jr held the tail of Scamp as Angel sunbathed and Tramp – Tramp was asleep upon the couch. Not a care, not a worry! 

Her news would break his slumber, shake him to his core! She knew it, he'd not trusted them in the past, but now he'd know himself to be right. His past self at the least. She barked, a noise unbecoming. It often had gotten her and the pups yelled at, but for this one singular day, she could bark and they'd not come. Not to one dog barking.

Her kids tumbled upon their own ears and paws, Scamp jerked his head. There was a moment of concern, then, it left as soon as their father's eyes opened. It was, at first, one eye, and then the other. He chuckled at their mom and the laugh made everyone ease up besides Lady. She found herself tied in knots as she whispered to speak to him in private, not so quiet as the kids could follow and nose into what was happening.

“You alright?” He said, stretching and yawning widely.

Her nails clacked tile as she stayed silent until they were cornered by the devices humans cooked with and framed beneath cupboards. It took everything within her not to go off like she had the night of the Rat or the birth of the litter, to bark and run and scream and then collapse. “No.” She wasn't sure she ever would be. 

“Can't be that bad.”

“It is.”

His expression screwed up, surprise, then wonder. “Well?”

“Tramp –“ She lost her words and tumbled about mentally. She couldn't blurt he was being kicked out, she had no idea how to explain the pups, she fussed with her paws in concern.

“It must be bad.” He said, “You only do this over bad things.”

“Do what?”

“Get that expression.”

“...” She took a breath in, braced herself. There was no pauses, it all ran together like squirrels and beavers talking too fast. “Tramp Jim Dear and Darling are getting rid of you and the girls.”

She hunkered down, expecting a boom like a gun going off. He was posed like a wounded beast, favoring one paw to touch himself with, as if to remind himself he was alive, this was real. He shook himself off, ears flopping against his face and body quivering before he rose up and seemed to take it in.

“Like... the pound?”

“No, people. For Angel, Danielle, Collette, and Annette.”

“So they're going to homes then?”

“Yes.”

“That's not a problem. What's happening with Scamp?”

“Going with them.”

How could he handle this so calmly? He was always able to be so chill, so suave. They were falling apart and he was handling it! Her heart hammered in her chest.

“Going where?”

“They're moving.”

“Where?”

She didn't know, and made sure to say as much.

“Okay.”

“Okay? Okay?!”

“The kids have homes, you're going with them, Scamp too, what's the worry?”

“Tramp, I don't know where they're going, and they won't keep you!”

He made a great show of wagging his tail as he shrugged, body relaxed like they were preparing for a stroll. “The girls have wanted to have a nice home, Scamp and Jim Jr are driving them nuts, it'll be an adventure for them, Pige!”

“One far away from us!”

“All pups have to grow up.”

She scrunched her brows up and scratched an ear, attempting to mask her nerves being frayed. “You'll be a street dog again.”

“Unless I follow them and appear at the new place, they'll have to take me back. Just think, there, in the new yard, loyal Tramp, you'll run to me, our noses will touch, the humans will say sorry.”

“They can't afford to take you back, Tramp!”

“They can't say no to this face.” He made an expression of begging, one that often got him extra table scraps, then laughed. “Relax, at worst, I'll be on the streets sneaking back to you.”

She didn't like to think of it, of the life he'd had before her. There were many dogs before her, many people who had fed him before Jim Dear and Darling. Tramp had given up the streets to be with her. She didn't want to believe he'd embrace them if only to sneak under a fence and be with her for the night. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she feared it would be picked up by his keen ears.

He wasn't worried about this, she bet he had a dozen plans already thought up.

“Pige, I know no matter what, you'll be okay.”

She thought on that more. She'd had a good life, while pregnant she'd felt pressured in his absence to find another dog. The new place might mean a new life. Could she live without him? Lady didn't like the question. _Can I?_ She knew without a doubt dogs could, and had. 

Lady decided she'd believe in him, and wait until the end of time if it meant she could see him again. He was her Tramp, even if they could never be together again after this move. They'd been apart longer than this before. 

“You're right.”

“Of course I am.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, sorry guys, been offline with a few flickers of internet for a week, so a lot of stuff didn't get the loving updates they were supposed to.
> 
> Second off, got plans for summer which should make for more fanfics, hope that whets your appetites.
> 
> There's a misery in waiting, though... ;3

Days pass, roughly. Slowly. They drag like the sun behind clouds. 

Lady's nerves are on the wire. That is what humans say, right? Lately all her humans are saying is terrible things with terrible news. The kids are clueless, she hasn't had the guts to tell them about what's going on. Angel sunbathes with Si and Am who like her, she's 'got sass' to her a 'certain kind of moxie' which they find amazing. Though they take turns scratching at her less bold daughters, only for the boldest to lung forward and there starts Angel explaining the pups are cool,

All of this happens within their living room as Aunt Sarah and her people talk. Aunt Sarah is being told the news. Lady mentally pleads for the once mean lady to oppose this, to protest like she did there being one dog, and then two dogs, and now so many dogs, in one house. Aunt Sarah is in no such mood. She rejoices in ways the cocker spaniel never foresaw. She's elated, joyous even. 

Scamp and Tramp sleep upon the sofa in a close heap, and as she scans over them, back to her daughters, she sees no one eavesdropping, only she's listening. 

Trust Tramp. Every instinct says trust in Tramp.

It's hard, a mess of shakiness and emotion wearing her out. She's barely slept the last few days. In Jim Dear and Darling's bed – a bed soon to be abandoned. Nor on the couch – soon to be cleaned of dog hair and left behind for the next human. Not in the yard – she remembers being chained out there, will the chain one day rust to nothing now. Even the kitchen, with its nice smells cannot lull her to sleep – she'll miss those chips in the tile, the little marks Jim Jr left with crayon that Darling missed.

She can't sleep much now. Part of her wonders if she ever will again. It'll be hard to in the new place, it'll take so long to remark everywhere, have it smell like dog. She has no idea where the place they speak of is beyond it's 'far' and 'a drive' away. How far is a far drive? How far is far? She's heard of cities beyond countries and countries with many cities before. Lady wonders if they'll be so far away that she'll never see her daughters again.

Watching them become friends with Si and Am, she wonders if they'll ever miss her like she'll miss them. Tramp told her long ago with Scamp that pups grew up and left home. Most never came back. She's believing it now. Once before it was 'no, not my pups. They'll be different.' but now she sees there's no difference between her pups and Angel, someone else's dog. A dog who has had five homes. 

Six soon.

Does it bother Angel? She wonders. Maybe Angel has experienced more than all of them. Maybe Angel is Tramp's age and that's why her and him are both handling everything that comes their way in stride.

Lady can't do that though! 

Her claws are worn down more than they've every been, they barely click and clack across the floor now, instead just hovering over the linoleum as she paces and frets. Aunt Sarah booms with congratulations and tells Jim Jr he's going to have so many friends at the school in _that place_ they won't stop speaking of. 

Lady has had it, she wants to climb up the walls, she wants to howl, to bark, to lose her mind. They are leaving her children, they are releasing her mate! Her son is all that she will have left! How are they okay with this?! Her running and frantic pacing is ushered away by their chatting. Glasses clink. Cats purr, dogs rumble softer growls. Everyone is fine. Everyone's okay. Everyone but her!

It's on her fifteenth circle Tramp awakens, moving to shrug off Scamp and slink down onto the floor. He nudges her towards the sofa. Their son barely awake with blinking eyes before dozing off in warm sunbeams cast from a window. Lady almost protests, she wants to tell them all it's over, that it's ending. She wants to scream and pace the floor until she digs a burrow they can all live in and never have to look outside into the world of humans deciding their fates. 

She wants to do all of this, but finds herself laying in the spot Tramp previously occupied. It smells like him, is warm like him. She sniffs, breathes in his scent and the scent of the sofa. She wants the feeling it all gives her to last forever. Tramp says nothing, nudging Scamp over so he can wrap around Lady. 

She huffs, and deep down she's mad at him. Mad she can only trust him. Mad he's become such a part of her, they built this tiny world in a big house and have done so well. Like two proper dogs should. This feels like an end, a goodbye. His eyes show little concern beyond for her.

Lady seethes inwardly. 

How can she trust in Tramp when she cannot even trust in the humans who have given her everything? What world does she live in? The answer comes through her haze of emotions. Tramp told her what world a long time ago. He told her long ago he didn't really like humans. 

Lady stops being mad, she feels this must be hard for him. He's always said the humans might dump him back in the Pound. Maybe now he knows it's where he'll go. Maybe not. She's too scared, beneath his calm heartbeat and warm body, to dare and ask him if he really thinks his plan will work.


	6. Chapter 6

It's been three weeks. She's begun to sleep again. She cannot catch talk of moving any longer. The pups spend day after day with Aunt Sarah, then come home, then leave again. Darling's aunt loves them, in scathing words that insult Lady, she tells Jim Dear and Darling just how much better than Lady her three amazing pups are.

“Oh and Angel! Angel is such a little-”

“Angel!” Jim Jr chimes in, walking across to hold his hands out and then upward. He wiggles them. “Uppies, auntie!”

The older woman obliges and lifts him up with ease. “Yes. An angel! And Collette is such a...”

Lady finds the humans voices fade off quickly when she walks away and focuses anywhere but upon them. She's proud of her kids. Really proud. The proudest she's ever felt really, except for bath times. _Won't be anymore family bath times._ She heads outside, the door still ajar from Tramp exiting not long before her. 

Her son and mate are in the yard, bounding and hopping about. Looking happy. Looking like they have no care besides existing. Lady cannot find herself feeling the same. She sits and watches. _I'm the only one who cares about this._ She thinks, brows furrowing. _That feels wrong._ Neither spare her more than a few glances and a play bow. She doesn't return the bow, shrugging them both off instead. They return to what they were doing before her.

 _The humans shouldn't be able to do this to us._ She thinks, shoulders getting tense. _After all we've done for them, they're going to split us apart over nothing._ She looks at the house. It's hard to tilt her head back that far, but she manages. _Is it too big? Is it too smelly? Why does money matter so much?_ Half the rooms were barely used, often dusted over, but neglected. There was enough space for Hide-and-Seek all day, and often the humans themselves – pros of Hide-and-Seek– could not even find them. Who would give up such a place?

Why would a small house 'save money'? Did small houses hold less food so they bought less? Did it have a bad roof so they brought fewer things inside? How did all these money things work? She didn't understand a lick of them. Money came from paper and trees were paper, Jim Jr drew on paper, but it couldn't be made by humans? Then where did the paper come from? Lady shook her head, almost crying out when a big floppy ear slapped herself in the face so hard her nose hurt.

She slid across the yard and around the fences, determined to talk to Trusty and Jock. Trusty's mind was slipping now, more and more. He'd always been a bit funny, but now he was not so sure of yesterday from the yesterday of a week long gone. It had to do with his breed's lifespan and the accident. He'd had headaches since, they'd dulled. Jock was strong, but heartbroken over it. 

 

The talks between them had yielded nothing beyond a more basic understanding of money and how it worked. Not all humans couldn't make money, but only special ones could. Most had to work all their lives to have enough to live there. Jock's owner was old enough to do something called 'retirement' which was different from Jim Dear and Darling, they weren't old enough. 

Lady's head buzzed with all these silly human matters that now were affecting dogs. She noted the sky was becoming dimmer, a sign to head home. Neither Tramp nor Scamp silhouetted the yard as she turned for it, and Lady froze up in thought before she could take another step.

_I could run._

Her paw trembled in mid air.

_I could run back to the streets, learn to live there. If I leave, maybe they'll take Tramp. Maybe he'll go with them and it'll be okay. I can circle back. I can see my daughters._

It played out within her head. A collared dog with tags walking the streets. Her home would be vacant and her daughters with Aunt Sarah. She could visit them in her yard. Tramp would go wherever, same as Scamp. Lady could eat at the place Tramp had taken her, feast on sticky pasta, sauce, and meatballs. She'd learn to scrape by. Maybe even get taken in by Aunt Sarah.

Oh! That was a good plan! Aunt Sarah would ring up Jim Dear and Darling, tell them she was there, waiting for them and smelling of spilled garlic and old Alfredo, they'd come back for her and she'd get her mate and her son! Tramp would run to her side when Jim Dear drove out alone and came home with her, Darling would cry and hold onto her and –

The Jimminy Cricket inside of her whispered then, _If you run, Tramp will hunt you down before he'll leave with the humans._

Lady's heart sunk. She knew it to be the truth. Could she dare run away with him? If both of them were gone, who would protect the baby? Angry as she was, she could not abandon her humans. Even as she dearly wanted to. Lady put her paw down. She made her way to her home.

In the driveway was a big truck, one like the Dogcatcher had, only the back was open, empty. Lady slid inside and asked what it was.

“Moving van, Pige, it's how humans move furniture and boxes from one place to another.”

 _Not too late to run._ Her heart whispered.

“Oh.” She said, nodding, eyes half-lidded as she forced herself to stay calm. Passing him, she made her way for her human's bed and hoped this was all a bad dream she would awaken from. It was causing her to feel trapped within her own home.


	7. Chapter 7

The packing is a period of agony. Her daughters and Angel are off at Aunt Sarah's still, the days seem to blend, but with each one something else is gone. First it's the drawers are empty. Then it's the closet. By day three Jim Jr is haplessly tangling himself in tape and tamping toys he flung into a box bursting from the strewn valuables. He cannot carry it, but Tramp and Lady nudge it along as he pretends to push it. 

Food hasn't tasted right in days. She feels tired, a dryness in her eyes like dust and dirt has filled them, a feeling like when cars blew dark breath into her open gaze and mouth has come, making her throat burn along with her eyes. 

Trusting in Tramp sounded so easy before everything, now it feels like it might destroy her. His smile, his lackadaisical nature. Jock assists her with listening. His eyes are tired from Trusty's fits and she knows he doesn't want her to leave. Even if the kids are mostly staying, his expression, stern as it remains half the talks, is wavering on depressed.

 _How do some dogs run away and never tell anyone?_ She gives a great shake of her head as the box is packed into the half full moving vehicle. She's not ready to go yet. Tramp catches her gaze and nudges her.

“It'll be a few more days. Your people have a lot of stuff.”

There it is again. He's been marking Jim Dear and Darling as solely hers a lot lately. _Correct him._ A voice deep down tells her, so she does. “Our people.”

“They're keeping you, I'll be no one's soon.”

She wants to hide the sting, even as he touches noses with her and gives her all the love and kindness he has over time. A gentleman of a tramp. Hers. _Until we move._

“Dad?” Scamp's voice carries, roused from rest and finally noticing something besides his own indoor adventures in the slowly emptying rooms. 

Both look behind at him, he fusses, paws too big for his body still. They answer as one,“Yes, son?”

“They're not redecorating, are they?”

“No, son.”

His floppy ears droop lower somehow. Then he looks hopeful. “Are they repainting the walls?”

“No, son.”

They're taking turns answering him now. 

“Having another pup?”

“No, Darling's not planning on another until something called school.”

“Does school involve moving furniture?”

“No,” Lady replies. 

“Moving does.” Tramp says, and his body language somehow softens the slug of a blow that makes Scamp go from taking it as a joke to bewildered.

“Moving? To where?”

“We don't know yet.”

Tramp moves before her, even as Lady steps backwards and gives him more than enough space. He's cutting Scamp off from being upset. From some panicked angry young pup running into stuff and ripping boxes. Scamp's voice is loud, the two are yapping and bickering as Jim Dear and Darling move back and forth. Lady watches them glance over the dogs. 

She's a distraction, pulling on Darling's dress and receiving warm smiles her mate did not. They both pet her after the boxes rest in the van, praising her and she wants to believe, but she's seen their gaze. _Do you see this as a reason to leave him behind? Are we wrong to ever disagree with our children now? What have we done wrong?_

What a terrible fate they cannot understand her, know her thoughts, her feelings. Yet they grasp some part of it, as they both try to soothe her with words and tell her everything's going to be okay. “It'll be a bit, Lady, but we're going to go on a trip. You'll love it. A new place, a new yard, new friends.”

 _But my kids! My friends here!_ She barks in their faces, surprising them and herself. _Tramp! Everyone here!_

Normally barking would get her scolded, disciplined. Instead the humans exchange looks and Jim Dear pats Darling. “You tend to her, I'll finish today's packing, Darling.”

She'd swept close to rosy cheeks and soft perfume as her human coos and pets her, pulling her into a familiar embrace like she's a puppy again. She yields, a hug seems fitting, something she needs. She wants to vanish into it. Lifted up, she's dependent on Darling to not drop her, she closes her eyes and sighs softly. Her human is tender, caring, it's as if she's Scamp's age in this moment as she relaxes. 

She doesn't even bother opening her eyes as they passed her son and Mate. Scamp was going off at Tramp. His voice a raised grumbly mess of puberty and anger.

“They can't do this!”

“Yes.” Tramp gave a tired sigh. “They. Can.”

“The humans shouldn't do this!”

“It'll be okay son.”

“Yeah!” Scamp snorted, and she could tell he was glaring with an intensity to see through his father now. “Only because we're all moving together! Otherwise, this SUCKS!”

_Is he going to tell Scamp?_

Scamp had run away over less, maybe Tramp knew deep down they'd not stay to find their son this time. _Don't focus on it. Don't think. Thinking is too stressful right now._ She buried her face into Darling's chest and shut her eyes. 

Sleep came easy for once. In Darling's arms, Lady slept like a child, forgetting the missing drawers and night stand, or the darkness now that there were fewer lamps. 

In her dreams everything was fine.


	8. Chapter 8

Tramp eyes the boxes, the toy box, the emptying of the house. Lady sleeps more now, resting and rising for walks. With him. With their humans. She eats, she talks, she moves around. Tramp feels bad. It's soft and uneasy and builds up only to bubble out in his attempts to cheer her up. Play bowing and wagging his tail.

It could be worse. 

It could always be worse.

These are two lines repeated under jokes and between playful motions. They didn't do much. A head lift, a playful approach from Scamp. His son was still bitter, moody, but often listening and believing it would be fine. Kid could still lie to himself. It was a weird feeling. Tramp didn't need Scamp bolting, but he didn't think blind faith was deserved either.

For all he knew this could be a trip over weeks. Humans sometimes took months to move somewhere else. A car ride could take days. Scamp and Lady might be away a whole month before he could make an attempt to see them. 

Maybe Jim Dear and Darling would be back in a week. He'd linger around for awhile, then find them. He'd sniffed people across rivers and lakes before, a travel only meant he needed to remember the car's smell and the people's. Easy enough. He'd smelled both hundreds of times.

Scamp glanced between them, then roused his mom with a tackle and a chat. She seemed content, but drew him against her, neck around his and muttering. Like she used to do when they were pups, Scamp was treated with care and fussed over. “Mom, I'm not a-” He couldn't really say more, she was so busy fussing his words were hushed by dense fur and floppy ears.

 _They'll be fine._ He steps towards the kitchen. Darling's still cooking meals, but everything's measured and cleaned now. Nothing extra goes into the fridge and stays there. The kid's stuff is packed away, his room's absent of a crib.

Something about it seems quaint. A whole new family could live here. Another Jim Dear, another Darling. He thinks that's cool. Once before, he'd have scowled at the idea, a bunch of humans trading places they lived. But he'd watched this one work. A baby grow, a lot of walls painted and repainted. 

Everything around him changed. This wasn't some street corner or a dog fight area. Nor the zoo where it was always the same, day in and day out with the animals as bored as him. No, this was a life. 

“We should go around six.”

A soft cough, disagreement, and something else. “Too early.”

“Jim Dear.” She pushes.

“Eight.”

Darling's hands fold into her lap now, a tip of her head. Confused. “Eight?”

“Yes.”

Tramp watches her look outside, then at him now. “It'll be dark.”

“We'll be fine, Darling. Jim Jr will sleep the whole ride.”

“Will you walk the dogs before eight?”

“Yes, Darling. I'll walk them all, a long walk. One last long walk, then they'll hop into the car for a ride. They will be so tired, they'll sleep the whole ride.”

“Sounds relaxing.”

_That's good. Pige and Scamp can sleep, they won't be upset._

Darling hands a weird silver rectangle to Jim Dear, he punches out two pills. 

“The vet said these work good for dogs who have traveling issues.”

“Are you sure they are safe?”

Tramp thinks the same question.

“Yes, Darling.”

The strange pills are wrapped in some old food, from the smell of them, Tramp can guess bacon. He waits at the door now, and watches the lights outside turn on, then off. He wonders how long he'll be there.

 

“Hey. Dad.” Scamp says, carrying his leash to the door. “We're going out.”

“Yeah?”

“Coming with us?”

“Yeah, son.”

The walk's a tedious one. Lady and Scamp keep pace, but Jim Dear is walking them in circles like never before. They've ran streets and blocks before, tussled and rolled around in yards, but it's pitch black outside besides street lamps by the time it slows down to a walk.

“This is fun!”

“I wouldn't agree, Jim Dear's exercise routines are always exhausting.” 

Tramp ducks his head, smiles. “Try to keep up, Pige, Whirlwind, maybe this old dog will teach you some new tricks!”

Scamp hops forward, barking happily. “Ha, in your dreams!”

Lady's smile is in the corner of his eye as she moves her short legs along. Tramp keeps going. Hoping the humans calling the shots really know what they're doing. His family deserves love, deserves happiness. He's never felt nervous besides between meals in the wild. That was all about him then though. 

Now it's not about him at all, it's about his kids, his son, his mate who he believes can handle this. They've survived a lot outside and inside. She can live through things if they never take him back. She can stay strong. He's seen her resolve, he's seen her faith in him, in their people.

Tramp's only worry now is it's wrongly put.

Once home he can tell they're tired, unusually so. They're out in minutes. He watches over them, then heads towards the dog house. It's faded and unused. A method of punishment and house-training they don't need anymore. He's impressed it isn't packed away.

The inside smells of Lady, himself, and his pups. He shuts his eyes while breathing the smell in.

 

When he wakes, it's morning. The vehicles are gone. Tramp realizes he slept through all of it. He stares upon the vacated house. An empty building has never evoked these emotions from him until now.


	9. Chapter 9

An empty house is a lot like a skeleton. He's seen so many dead animals, dead dogs, rats, squirrels. Never a human dead out there long enough to become a skeleton, humans care for their own, but not strangers dead on pavements. They step around those until a man in a truck flings the remains without care, like a cat smacking a dead bird. He steps through the door one more time, it's as it looks from the outside, empty. A part of him wonders if he can sleep indoors, but humans will return, they trade houses like snakes trade skin. Money and buildings. _Pets too._

His words to Lady are prevalent in his mind. He told her he'd try to make it where she was. But where she was was complicated. There was a smell to the car, and the moving truck, but could he follow it? Tramp laid down and inhaled deeply. Could he even find them?

There were dogs, he knew of many. Traveled to these very houses, the very streets he'd walked. Looking for owners who wouldn't have them. He'd met plenty that way. Dogs replaced by puppies, by kids, by new animals who were not even dogs! It was a mad world when a dog couldn't compete with a cat! But in Tramp's mind, everyone deserved a place, the humans just didn't always have to be the place.

Not a human in sight, Tramp circled again and again. Down the road was life, dogs, people, children. None were his. A store two blocks away dinged and was noisy with customers. 

Tramp could smell scraps galore in the trash on the curb. Food Jim Dear and Darling had dumped all into a bag instead of take with them. It would feed Tramp for a few days. Longer if he could drag the bag without it bursting.

With the care used in handling Jim Jr and his diapers, Tramp grabs the tied top and pulls. The bag holds fast, lumps of what looks like frozen meat hold it flat, until it vibrates, like a deflated ball, and tilts just enough the contents roll on each other. Dog food it was not, but real chow like he once had eaten, yes. Tramp carefully continued his ministrations, rolling wrapped food along, mindful of anything it could snag upon. With more care, he pulled it within the dog house.

A well-placed bite pierced the garbage bag, contents within wafting out a delicious aroma. Tramp ate, and tucked the remains in the far corner. Then he kicked some dirt upon his cache. Satisfied, he left. 

The scent trail grew fainter and waned into nothing four hours later. He was farther from home now, a long, exhausting walk. The roads ahead were long, ending at the horizon. He could smell water, oil, and a lot more cars. Tramp carried along. If he hurried, he could be back by sunset when this failed. And it was bound to fail. His guts churned in a way that made him feel only bad things were going to happen now. A bad feeling itched his back.

The next town over was bigger, a city. There were people, dogs he'd never seen. Smells he knew well still were about. Trash, rats, crumbs, mold, sticky candy, spaghetti, ice cream. He sauntered past humans, and dodged people in attire that often called dog catchers. _No one will come for me this time._

The third town looked like the first, and the second, but not a big city or a small town. It stank of machines, buildings. He could not smell food. There were only buildings, cars, oil, mold, termites, the dust of houses being knocked down and built back up. He didn't understand that, termites sure were a big deal. Why? What were tiny bugs to humans besides gross like flies and cockroaches? Were they really that gross?

The smell was gone already, and he had only the false hope they went straight, but the longer Tramp walked, the longer he debated if this would work. _They have Scamp, a chip-off the ol' me, they won't need the adult version of him. Lady can find some other dog. I know she loves me, she'd do anything, but dogs are strong. She's strong. She survived the city and found me._   
The afternoon was at its hottest, pavement hot beneath his toes, deeper and deeper his doubt grew. _When I get there, will they even care? My daughters are here, I shouldn't leave them for my son and my mate._

Angel was there too. There were four dogs left behind not counting himself. Angel, and his puppies. Tramp froze, tense like he was playing dead on his feet. He couldn't leave his daughters behind to chase his mate and son. They were two, and his daughters were three. They were in Aunt Sarah's care, but Lady had said that might be temporary. 

A shudder worked its way along his spine. What if any of them became street dogs? He'd only taught Scamp about his past, really. The history of Lady and him upon the streets would not bode well for either of the three resembling their mother. His paws twitched, and he spun on his heels to run for home, to regain ground he'd wasted chasing a maybe.

He didn't know where Lady was, or Scamp, but he knew where his daughters were. He could not trade an absolute away for a chance. Especially when his daughters had been kept in the dark so long.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in general, and this will appear in other works if they are posted on time, my other projects will be updated as I can and Troubled Low will be worked on again once I can rewatch the second movie(certain scenes depend on me remembering the source material for reasons), Compressive does not have a long plot, and shouldn't surpass twenty chapters, plan was fifteen, but plans and results vary for me. Once it ends, other things will be picked up and other plans will be revealed.

It's a longer walk home, barely timed right. Instead of sunset or before dark, Tramp is navigating in the fringes of fading red lines along the horizon. Plan to leave abandoned, he has to go home. Aunt Sarah will not welcome him at these hours – highly unlikely she will welcome him at all, but late, she'd shut the door on him and not open him next day.

Streetlights, flashing signs, car lights, and the occasional human with a flashlight are the only things that stand out now, he can track his own path, his scent is fresh and not a drop of rain has followed. It's once he's back home that exhaustion comes over him like a suffocating blanket dropped over his face. The yard is dark, he can see no lights there, and realizes that humans pay for light, instead of just using the sun, they buy their own lights. No Jim Dear, no Darling, no lights come on. 

It had rained in his absence, not a lot, but his dog dish shone full of water now and the fence smelled like wet wood.

Despite how ready to fall into sleep within the doghouse Tramp feels, something else catches his attention. More houses are black. Light less. They trail beyond their own, beyond the shell that housed his humans. The road with many dogs and cats and everything is punctuated by lit houses, along a far line of black dashes. Far as Tramp can see, houses beyond here, nice houses too, are all darkened. Even some which never have had a light out in all of Lady's life.

 _Maybe it was never us._ He strays just long enough to look out there, watching for some of them to light up, and seeing none do so. The fence is crossed into, and Tramp shrugs it off. He's terribly hungry.

Flies buzz all around his ears. Their tiny legs touch his nose, his ears, they crawl along his whiskers, something smells foul. Tramp pulls back to sniff in the darkness, inhaling smells. It's a dead animal, no, several dead animals. Squirrels, cats, mice. He cannot identify which is which quite yet. He knows they are all dead for some time. It's as though a human hit each and tossed them into the yard. 

Repulsed only slightly, Tramp's appetite has not waned. But when he enters the dog house, it's empty. A reek of his food, smeared across the grass and gobbled up, and scraps of the trash bag linger in the trees. Rustling along fly buzzes. _Gone so long someone else got my food._ The old Tramp would laugh and go inside, get more food, lead Jim Dear to the stray who stole his breakfast, lunch, or dinner, then eat regardless. But this is not that life anymore. He can't replace Darling's soups and stews. He can't beg Jim Dear for another steak. 

_That food was supposed to get me through the next week._ Not a trace is in the corner, no taste, no residue, something pulled it out, emptied it, then left the tattered bag to the wind. _Desperate dogs do things that house pets can never understand._ Tramp _could_ understand this. Hungry dogs didn't respect markers or borders, especially in the owner's absence.

 _My fault. Now what do I do?_ He inhaled deeply now, the smell of what was mixed with rot and sun-beat bodies. _What I expected to have to do, of course._ Opting out of laying down, he grabbed a dead squirrel by the leg. Memories of eating mice and rats before came flooding back. Licking clean plastic dishes and eating garbage and food dropped by sticky-handed toddlers or stealing a sandwich from a worker. He could feel the bones snap, taste the meat, now trying to become dry and tough between his teeth. Tramp put the body between his front paws and tugged.

Blood and organs met his tongue, he snapped and gobbled, eating the squirrel in three bites before a mouse in one. The cat was foregone for another squirrel, he felt uneasy eating it, but in the end, he buried it for later with a few mice. Grateful it bore no face so he could pretend it was but a large squirrel. Guilt was absent, and his stomach didn't quite like the change. Dog food and human meals had made him soften.

 _Maybe it's a good thing I wasn't here today. This is a lot of dead animals, humans must have been driving badly, or maybe kids playing with hunting guns?_ It was odd. _Got so bad some stray came along and stole my food too._ He found that odd in itself. Dogs knew who lived here normally. Tramp couldn't find a scent of who had been there, not in the rain. If someone had taken his rations, they had to have been in a bad place. 

Tramp licked the blood off himself and curled up, breathing slower. 

Tomorrow he'd see how his daughters were doing.


	11. Chapter 11

Morning comes with nothing changed. Tramp circles the area, sniffing for more dead animals, tire tracks, or human scents. Kids walk by, none look his way, though he half wishes they would. They are far older than Jim Jr and he wonders if one day the small human pup will look like them. Will he love dogs or will he grow to hate them? Tramp shakes those questions off, marks the fence twice, and waits a little longer to see if anyone approaches the house. His moral duty to guard it has already waned. It's a shell, his dog house is all he cares about now, and he'll fight another dog for it. Should one be such a fool in the first place.

Aunt Sarah lived out of town, at a place near where the humans had once, but then they'd moved. Maybe that was a tip off. They'd moved there before Lady was born, some life without family, a life of him and her, and a puppy. Then him, her, a dog, a stray, a baby, and four puppies. Six dogs, a baby, and a new addition in the form of Angel. 

_One small dog didn't tip the scales._ He reminded himself, curbing his anger over Scamp and Angel roaming the streets. _This was coming. I bet our humans ran out of pay, bills is money, this is all about money. Humans are crazy. It's just paper!_ Not bones, not territory. Everything was paper and – He stalled in his anger, the stewing was eating at him like the fresh squirrel for breakfast. A hardened lump within him.

_Let it go, Tramp._

Dogs turned their heads where humans did not, leaches went taught, humans idled with their own doing. Tramp could smell the marks of his kids and two Siamese cats easily enough. Si and Am had calmed down, and really liked his daughters, save Danielle, she was developing into a phase that reminded him of Scamp. Mud, soft curses, tail biting. Angel had only been encouraging this, a motion unnoticed by all but Tramp himself. He'd caught them being 'wild dogs' in act, with Danielle really into it. The street would gobble her up, or, she'd show just how much of him she had under her mother's looks. He didn't wish to see it.

Aunt Sarah had a tall fence, black iron curling on itself in shapes, see through gaps exposing a small yard. Her place smelled of gardening and gardeners and, after making sure no one else was around, watching, or whatever, he approached the gate door and attempted to grasp the handle. It was a knob with a latch or such. One hard push with his paw on the latch turned it upward while his teeth grabbed the knob, a twist and he was in. 

It had not changed since prior visits, and now, without Scamp, the cats lazed on balconies. They saw him, but made no move like they might have once before. Merely flicking their tails and yawning. Soft barks made him come around, following the fence to a small garden rimmed by bird waterers and birds. There was Annette and Collete, sunbathing while Danielle dug a hole in a barren garden, dirt being spread around by her. He relaxed, tension rolling off his shoulders. At least he could see how they were doing. Two out of three looked fresh from the groomers. 

“You look well.”

All three heads pivoted, their mouths each turned and twisted with joy. Two clean bodies and one dirty one closed the distance to tackle him. Overpowered, Tramp fell to the ground and laughed. “DADDY!”

“Daddy we missed you!” 

“Are we going home yet?!” 

“Of course not, Danielle, can't you tell, we are home!” 

“What? Dad, tell them they're wrong.”

“No, tell us we're right, dad.”

“No way, mom said –“

“Annette's right, this is home now, and it's great! Brushes and sunshine and spas!”

“Dad?” She turned now.

“Dummyhead, Aunt Sarah's been talking about it all day.” Collette said, as if it was old news already.

“Yeah,” Annette added, “We're living here and we're not going home, home's gone.”

Tramp stepped around them to embrace them as best as he could, trying not to feel nervous or like he was becoming unhappy in their presence. In reality he was not. He could see himself, his resourcefulness, his ability to shrug things off. It was in the two blatantly, while Danielle had her mother's concerns, thinly veiled. 

“Closer.” He embraced them more, head resting atop one's head. “The house is empty, like a shell. Your mother and brother have left, I can't find them, they're gone.”

“No.” Danielle said, bristling. “Scamp wouldn't leave us.”

“Bull,” Collette's tone became a razor, acid slicing at her sister. “That's all Scamp ever wanted, to get away from us.” Annette and Danielle seemed to shrink against Tramp's chest, small, and no longer talking on the subject. Collette turned her head, hugging her dad best a dog could, before she changed the subject. “Come see our spots, dad. Angel's inside right now.”

Danielle perked up fast, and made a move to go inside. By the time Tramp had squeezed through the new doggy door that needed an oiling to flap open right, the dirty dog was on a less than clean dog bed chewing on one of the Pomeranian's ears and they were exchanging words. Angel bore a collar, lined with what were fake rocks, gems, and he took in they all had those now. _Uptown dogs, and big city puppies, you four will make many a stray jealous._

Her less than enthusiastic tone made Tramp feel like snapping, but instead he sat as Angel spoke. “Hello, is it true, about Scamp?”

“I'm afraid so.”

Angel's mouth pursed up, worry, then acceptance, like she knew everything was destined to end up this way somehow. “Do you think he'll be happy?”

“Whirlwind will be happier than he ever has been with time. I'm sure of it.” Puppies grew up. Even Lady had once howled for attention and her family. 

She gave a nod, then was buried beneath Danielle's ears. “I think he'll be fine too.” Her words somehow eased the tension for the female mutt that was fretting despite a slight composure. “Aunt Sarah will be surprised if she wakes from her nap and sees you.”

“Pleasantly.” Danielle asked. 

“Unpleasantly, he brought more dirt than you, sis.” Annette snapped.

“I do need a bath, don't I? He laughed.

“Yes!”

 

An awkward bath later, involving his daughters, a hose, and some mishaps, Tramp felt cleaner at least, the smell wasn't that less, no hands for shampoo and the lack of nerve to wake Sarah would do that. They laughed and dodged him shaking water droplets off himself. Danielle and Collette asked where he'd be staying and he tried his best to explain street life without flat out saying 'never do it, you'll end up likely with a broken leg like uncle Trusty' or worse. They seemed happiest there, and Angel, for once, backed him up.

Avoiding her gaze, he dodged Annette and Collette a few more times before falling into a wiggling mess. “You've got me!” He said, and moved his paws to lift her by her chest and stomach. “But whose got you?”

“Dad!”

“PUPS!” The human's voice came, loud and bold, like a shrill old woman's was meant to be. They all hopped away from him, Angel already gone. He watched his three daughters straighten their fur, their tails, and fluff their ears before leaving him. _Can't be that much of a problem if they run to her like that._ She'd sent them treats ever since that winter the pups had come, and been extra coddling. 

They were happy, and he'd already promised he'd visit more often. So it would all work out that way, visits to Aunt Sarah and maybe one day the old lonely lady with two cats and four dogs would want another dog. Tramp doubted it, highly. He was guard dog material, but so was Danielle if her legs and paws grew with her. Angel was a lapdog, small, fully grown for a long time, but his daughters could wind up various sizes and heights. The thought of such made him laugh.

Tramp turned and left, shutting the gate more carefully. His fur was slightly damp, but with another shake it fluffed up. _Happy. They're happy. My kids are mostly happy._ Tramp rounded a corner, feeling relief. Two streets crossed, he stuck to the walls, away from humans. The stink of rot was along the alleys, as was it always. Spoiled food in sunlight bubbling and souring. The smell of a rat dropped in a cat, but it grew in strength when he caught a smell of leftover food. Food was something he really could go for. He'd not touched his daughter's dishes, feeling wrong to even think of such hungry or not. But street food was everyone's.  
Sauce, cheese, bread, could it be pizza? He glanced into the alley and turned his head, no humans to see a dog stealing. But when he finally looked into the afternoon alley, he got a glimpse of someone large, powerful, with a body between their jaws. Gutted and drooling organs, Tramp stepped backwards as the being's brown eyes fell upon him, jaws making a wet crunch around the throat of the lifeless corpse. Tramp's blood ran cold, he could only stare, shock rippling down his spine, hackles tensed.


	12. Chapter 12

The dog towered over him, and in the slatted lighting he knew him well. Those brown eyes, those muscles tensing. The curvature of his jowels as Buster opened his mouth. The remains squelched to the pavement and got on his paws as he had to crane his head backwards to stare into the gaze and not break it. His paws scrabbled backwards. Rear first, then rest of him emerged from the alley, he dodged stepping into the streets, and glanced around, humans were about, but none looking up. They had cases and boxes and were all focused somewhere else, none were looking his way.

“Well, well, well. Lookie here.”

The mix sneered, paws stepping over his dropped meal, discarding it, a long tongue began licking blood from his mouth. Tramp moved to the side, eyes still locked, but trying to remember the correct direction to run, even as he moved side to side.

“It's Trampsky boy all alone. No hand to hold the leash, no name to claim the collar. No humans, no home, no kids.” 

His gaze shifted, then back, but not fast enough.

“Right, right, no Scamp. No _Lady._ ”

His hackles bristled, they were far away, safe. His daughters alone remained here. They were what he had to be defensive of. “Buster, I –“

Tramp had never thought on what to say. “I'm sorry” felt so hollow here, now. He'd left him to die after his son had buried him in trash. He'd laughed in his face and then gone home. He'd never looked back, thought to check. If Buster had died, been rotting this whole time, and Tramp was still alive – it all felt sick in his gut, like the squirrel meat, like the cold water when he jumped in. It twisted and turned like the pasta he shared with her. Pasta he'd once brought to Buster. A place he'd once taken everyone, but only two meant something in the end. “I –“

Buster's paws were massive, and they closed his distance to promote a smile, a dog's smile was just a warning. Tramp took his odds, thought on it, and turned. Bolting the other way than which he'd come, away from a thick metal fence Buster could neither scale nor open. He heard the huff, a scuffling sound, then felt adrenaline hit his body. Pushing forward, Tramp only spared a single glance. The larger mutt was hot on his tail, as he'd hoped, because if Buster wasn't there to hurt him, he'd have only a few other options to go for. His kids. 

It seemed Buster had been there by accident, or not. The more Tramp thought on it, the more he felt as though he'd been followed and food had drawn Buster away from sitting and waiting. Tramp's mind raced, he bolted the roads, no cars in sight, no people their way. This was likely a big friendly game to them all. A big game between two dogs. Only Tramp recalled his son in the pound, the chicken stolen, how Buster spoke to Scamp. To lure him into his own paw prints and have someone like him a second time. Laying on the front porch with Lady, and Angel running to him over his son, trapped. He shut his eyes, let his ears perk up, then focused.

_You want me, come and get me._

Legs kicking up dirt and heart pumping, Tramp raced for home. An empty home, but he had ideas. The dog door was him-sized, only someone up to his size could get in. Sure Buster could break through, neighbors would hear and maybe call though. Not likely, afternoons were busiest. People liked afternoon more, and night. Mornings were when things really started with bangs. So worst came to worse, he would be lunging through the dog door and bolting empty rooms. He could shut doors. Would Buster wear out then? He hoped so. 

He honestly hoped her would before.

All the confidence was evaporating in this chase. There was a hatred to Buster, an anger like hardened diamonds bubbling up within him. Like he could spit fire any moment. He'd screwed up. It wouldn't matter if people heard, people could not simply net Buster, Tramp had taught him ways out of nets, how to lunge upward, how to bite. They'd have him for an hour and then Buster would go back to the wild. Over and over Tramp contemplated the how of getting Buster to talk, and not as he had just been. He'd been ready to put him down verbally and physically.

He hit the fence with a hard jump, back legs pushing him over as Buster's shoulder slammed into the wood and seconds later his shadow was cast over him. Tramp dodged, backwards, guarding his flank.  
“We can talk about this, Buster.”

“Sure we can. Once you stop running.”

“Buster... Buster, listen.”

“Everything changes, Tramp. People leave, people grow up, we used to talk about that, _remember?_ Humans dump the big dogs, the dogs like you, like me, and they replace them with younger dogs.” He dodged, circling, trying to keep his teeth bared, as Buster had little trouble turning on him. “Your son's gone, Tramp. Or,” he bore down upon him, breath reeking of trash, “should I say your _replacement._ ”

Jealousy lined every word, Tramp could feel it. There was hurt too. “Scamp's gone. That's true.” He stood taller, ignoring the lashing of large paws and dark claws. “Far away from the both of us. We'll never see him again.”

Wounded, the rottweiler mix stepped back, rethought his next words, then made for a lunge, teeth ready. Tramp rolled, legs close to stomach, and tried to ignore the pain in one shoulder along with the smell of metal. It was coming at him like street fights, teeth and claws and rolling, kicking, pinned beneath the male, with teeth snapping and biting down, ripping fur from his ears, his shoulder, his paw as he tried to push Buster off of him.

“He'd have been a junkyard dog if not for you!”

Tramp was glad it was never meant to be. “He'd never have left the streets if not for you!”

Buster bit down, mouth over paw, something in one toe crackled, popped and felt weird. He hooked his teeth around Buster's ear, pulled upward by him jerking backwards, releasing his hold. Tramp sat up, shook himself best he could. 

For a moment both breathed. Then Buster slammed him backwards, and Tramp was rolling out from beneath his legs and kicking, scratching, doing his best. The shock had worn itself off, and Buster was drawing blood. 

His scruff grabbed, Tramp felt the wind twist out of his throat before Buster spoke, shaking him back and forth. “YOU DITCHED ME!”

Above everything else, it rang out, as his body collided with his doghouse and he fell on his back, feeling broken. 

“You left me for her, you left me for them, you left me buried under a pile of trash! You left me to **die!** ” Water dish flipped and kicked aside, Tramp pulled backwards, fumbled. “Now they're not here, your Lady, your son, your pack, your humans. You're nothing. You have nothing. Just like you did to me. Like your son and mate did.” 

Tramp's eyes met the ground, then raised slowly, he forced his best smile, even though his mouth tasted of blood and his body wanted rest and a human's help. He couldn't find a way out, the dog door was there, but it was a foolish plan. So he smiled, tilted his head. Did his best to not stutter or show his pain. 

“Yes.” His paw didn't hold his weight right. “You're right, Buster.” Shock creased his old friend's face. “We've both lost everything we had.” He straightened up to look him in the eyes, “You've won.” 


	13. Chapter 13

Buster's mouth shut, he feels his ear flicking to the side as he tilts his head, realization hits. He's won? Bested the Tramp. The Tramp is at his mercy now. A dog whooped and knocked off his high horse to lay among the junk once more like it was meant to be. But there was a great conflict within him. The hatred, the pain. Being alone all this time, failed packs, failed groups. Failed companionship. All because of one person in his life. There's not a lot of dogs in the world, and yet one dog along has ruined him. 

Tramp got that, watching Buster's body language. He fully understood he'd messed up. The way his ex-best-friend was teetering over him was a warning, and yet he had nothing to fear. Buster was thinking, putting it all together and that would take awhile.

For then, Tramp would simply.

Breathe.

His tongue lolled over wounds, lapping them clean and removing the dirt and blood. One paw clicked funnily, the other stayed sturdy, he can feel that there's blood running down his face from his tattered ear. He can also feel it along his prickled hackles as well, the rest of him is filthy, dirt caked into every part of him and grass stains. But he's alive.

He's alive. 

Buster's has a torn ear now, punctured with little holes from Tramp's teeth. His stomach runs a bit muddied with blood, an insignificant amount compared to Tramp's. Once more he knows he cannot best Buster in brawn. The dog door lingers in his mind. A final option. He can run, he can escape. Get a new home, live with Aunt Sarah, with her gardener, her neighbor. He could do anything, a lot of anything's, and yet, he knows that will not fix _this_. This before him is not something he can runaway from. 

Not again, he's already ran from it a lot.

 _Where_ would he even run to?

When the air's filled his lungs and he thinks he can handle what's next, Tramp straightens himself up and pants, forcing a smile as he fights with his own thoughts and emotions. No family left to guard. No son to bring home. No Scamp between them looking shocked at their every exchange. No Lady to come home to – as he always promised he would after the pound incident. No lackeys to snap at him or weave Buster's lies like rope around his paws and neck. None of that is here now. Nothing's stopping him from speaking and finally them having a talk.

“I –“

“Shut up!” Pink gums flash, white teeth. Spitting a globule at the dirt, the rottweiler mix doesn't lunge, but glare at him. Hot fire, able to melt a diamond with his hate. “I'm sick of it, Tramp. Sick of your side, of you defending yourself, telling me I won just so I might back down. So I might feel some kind of accomplishment, some kind of satisfaction and walk off so you can pick yourself up and trot off. I'm done, Tramp. Done with you talking and always making excuses. This time _Buster_ is doing the talking. So sit down, shut up!”

Tramp closes his mouth.

“I said. Sit!”

His tail passes over the perfect lawn of Jim Dear's perfect yard, butt squat over it and postured perfectly.

His tone's gravelly, condescending, “Good boy.”

 _Just because I have a collar on..._ He keeps it to himself. Buster licks blood clean off himself, turns twice around to check his wounds, stubby tail moving, a wag of aggression. Tramp's not moving. He's fully aware any twitch and he's going to get yelled at, bitten, and so forth.

“You listen. You're gonna. Gonna listen, gonna hear me, and- and if it's the last thing you hear, you're gonna hear Buster. You're gonna hear _me_ , _my words_! No one else's, not your son's, not your exes, not the gossip on the streets, not your lies, not your assumptions!” Buster's voice raised to acid. “You are going to sit here, hear me out, and if you have plans elsewhere, tough. If it takes weeks, we'll spend weeks, if it takes my whole lifetime, well it won't feel as long and terrible to endure as you being gone,” Tramp barely hid a flinch, “or how long it took me to get out from everything that fell of me after _you and your son_ left me to die. Not a first for you, Tramp. Bet you wish I had died, right? So you could lie and say we never happened –“

“N-no Bu –“ His chest was headbutted, winded, he fell back and stared upward.

“I said shut up, Tramp. It's my turn. All you have ever done is tell your side. If I have to sit on you and crush the wind out, I will get my say! Buster always gets what's due. So shut yer trap and listen!”

Tramp did. Clamping his mouth shut. 

What came was a tirade. Buster started off swearing, it was a lot of cusswords, cursing Tramp, his mate, but not Scamp so much. _Please move on from my mate's existence._ Lady was everything from pedigree to a powder puff to a dog food model. She was a bitch, she was a spoiled rich dog, she was everything and the kitchen sink. _This is why Lady never got to meet you._ Snarling and growling, Buster paced and ranted his heart out.

“– And then there's YOU! After everything, after all we had, all we did. Saving each other's tails, having each other's backs, the dog fights, the street life, the cold nights! None of it ever meant shit to you, did it?! You were using me, like- like every other warm female who gave you attention. That it?! Don't open your mouth or answer, I don't want your excuse. “I fell in love”, yeah, well, she's gone now, Tramp. Maybe if you hadn't have shoved her in the house and guarded her every walk I would have attacked her. Maybe you were right to be scared for us to ever meet. All I ever wanted to do was grab her by the throat and give her a good shaking. Then I grew numb, bitter, I hated you more than her, then her more than you! It kept going and going, Tramp! Angel came into my life and I thought here's a puff ball that'll die without muscle, and the whole time it felt like I was emulating you, couldn't feel a thing for her, but your son, _oh, your son_ , along comes Scamparoo and his collar too, and he starts making eyes at her! She was still mine, mine, Tramp. He comes along.

“Walks right in and begins to become 'one of us', a chip off the block and looked so much like you. Thought I was crazy, thought I was nuts, had been sniffing too much garbage, but he was a new you, a possible you. He could have grown up out here. Could have been one of us, but Angel. Angel always had dreams. Dog dreams. _Pet_ dreams. A home again. So did the lot of them, but they'd grown up. She had aged, but not grown up. An adult pretending to still be young, still hold onto a puppy's dreams! What a load, right?! So Scamples, what's he do? He starts to hang with her as much as me. I could feel it, the old feeling – like he was gonna just elope with her and hightail it to the nearest kennel club and become best in show again! He didn't want to, but she was talking more and more, like some _puppy_ was all she needed in her life to make her take some soap box stand and I –“

Tramp's fondness for Angel was limited, he didn't hate her, and his feelings were not Buster's, but he could understand parts of the rant, even as it continued. Tramp didn't like Scamp with Angel. Angel was always more like a cat than a dog, more like an adult than a child. It made things tense. Weird. She'd come home and changed the chemistry. Now she still had a home and seemed to be living it up. _Better off not telling him that._

His aches were dulling into a tingling fuzzy feeling by the time Angel's backstory and the entire version of Scamp's story was retold, this time through Buster's eyes. He wanted to correct a few things, but knew it wasn't that big of a deal. Scamp had been hurt because of whose he was, not who he was. If Tramp had never left the streets, Scamp could have still existed, been happy, fed. Lady could have become a street dog, so many things could have happened. He couldn't argue on their behalf. It was him who tainted them and he was why Buster was filled up with venom.

The Tramp searched for the right words. 

“I'm sorry.” It felt so empty. Like he'd thought it would. An empty small breath. So he tried again. “I'm sorry.” Again it was empty, a void between two words that would not undo everything. “I'm so sorry.” Gaping wounds and fallen furniture, a family, a friend left to die. “Buster. I'm so sorry.” His son turning wicked, angry, lashing out and Tramp laughing, encouraging Buster's pain. Leaving him to stew in that pain. Abandoning him another time. Deserting him. “I never meant to do it, I never thought... I've ruined your life, I've taken what mattered most to you, and I'm so sorry I never thought about anyone besides myself. I changed, Lady, she helped me change. My children, they taught me too. I'm still The Tramp, I'm still me. But the me I am now, you've never met, you've never known. Because I robbed you of it. I pushed you away, out of my life! I messed this all up, and if it wasn't for me, you'd –“ His throat gave away to a cough, a choke. “I ruined the life we had. The life we could have had.” 

“Yeah...” He paced, eyes quizzical, looking at Tramp with darting concern that fleeted off, jaw set. “Yeah, you really did. You screwed everything up. No shit, that's what I've been saying for a long time now!”

“So what do you want me to do then, Buster? What am I supposed to do _now_ to _fix_ what I've done?” Tramp had no idea if he even could. “Tell me, Buster. Tell me the way to make it right, and I'll do it.” 

The mutt froze, black and tan body going rigid. He stared off, him too at a loss for the answer. 

Silence blanketed them both.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is here, dear reader(s) I must admit the title itself was to be a tip off on where this story was headed. Compressive is another word for a type of anger(compressive anger), a type of stress(compressive stress), a version of the word compression, aka to reduce or make compact, to push down on something. All of that has been shown. Lady's hopelessness, Tramp's, Buster's anger, the financial situation, it's all real stuff that happens. Compressive anger is explosive, random, like a firework it booms and dies, compressive stress passes. There's a degree of things that sort of fell into place in this fic. Scenes that didn't work on paper bullet points flowed fine on the keyboard, the 'can I do this' angle, where I needed to see the movie to feel more comfortable writing Buster's dialogue was dropped. I decided to just go for it. During which many things happened. I gained first-hand witness to more dog fights, found many references and experienced a lot of highs and lows. 
> 
> Fanfiction is not my main focus, it's my side thing in between a grocery list and a half of other things, but it relaxes me. It helps me unwind. When I can do it right and put it out there, it helps. Especially when things for me are quite. . . compressive. 
> 
> Do not worry, even as this story ends, there will always be more from me. In some form or way, I always come back and write more, so if anyone's reading this before it ends or after, just know I appreciated you reading, and I'll be sure to keep up the content.

Pacing, and a lot of it. Buster circled him, thoughtful, sometimes chewing his claws and huffing to himself. The answer to the question was likely lost between them. A wound too deep now. Humans said one year was seven in dog, and Tramp had basically ditched Buster for a year, more so. Seven dog years. Was that replaceable with seven more dog years? A lifetime? Or maybe just a life?

“Do you want me... dead, Buster?” 

He cocked his head to the side as the mutt's cropped ears went straight up and his mouth forced itself to work. 

“What? Shit! I beat you stupid or something? No! Never – Screw you, I was thinking!”

So death itself could not atone and would not end both their problems. There was no death in his jaws, no urge to kill Tramp and walk off. _It should relieve me for once a dog won't be trying to kill me._ But there was nothing but tension quivering along his body. It's dumb to feel.

“If you are sitting there thinking I have the intention – look, Tramp, old buddy, once pal of mine. It'd be a lie to say I never spent countless hours standing out at night, thinking of feeling the weight of your body shift and go limp as I held you between my jaws and made something inside of you crack. What it'd feel like. What it'd sound like. What'd you do. What it would come down to if I finally could just put you down like the dog catchers almost did.” He turned to face him anew. “You have no idea how many times I've lost you as is. To kill you really doesn't interest me. It does me no good.” 

A big grin crossed his crooked muzzle, a smile of a champion. “And you should know by now, Buster's best interest are what Buster's interested in most.”

Tramp laughed softly.

“Between the girls, the dames, the streets, the fights, dog catchers and everything, last thing I expected was to lose you to some house pet.”

Sobering, he gave a shrug. “Wasn't planning to.”

“But you did!”

“Yes, but I –“ He stopped short, hung his head. Motioned with a paw for Buster to continue. _Shut up, dummy, you've done enough already._

“You fell in love one day, wandered off. Didn't think of your friends, your female fanciers, didn't think of me!” He sat down, paws crossing in vexation. “Off on some adventure we thought, people made up stories. You jumped off a waterfall, you fought fifty dogs and then vanished into the sunset. If a dozen morons blathering their mouths didn't piss me off, seeing you hauled off did!”

“You saw that?”

“No, I – I heard about it, but the talk was in such detail. Friends, enemies, it was like a graphic story someone never forgets, and it was supposed to be the end. The end of you. But it wasn't, because you're The Tramp and there's nothing you can't get out of.”

“Except this.”

“Except this. And this is just your own doing too, you trusted humans after all that time we spoke on how they could never be trusted!” Buster cleared his throat. “Anyways...”

“What was the plan with my son?”

Both eyebrows raised upward. He shot him a confused look.

“I heard his side, Buster, I never asked for yours.”

“Because you left me to die.”

“Because- yes.” Tramp ground his teeth together. “Because I left you to die. I laughed at your pain.”

Sated by this, Buster scooted some, becoming more comfortable. “The plan was dumb, like real dumb. He was messing up the status of the pack, messing up my dogs. Lousy dogs, but they followed me. Scamp was so loyal until Angel messed him up. Eating out of my paw -don't make that face, he loved being a wild dog- and she was so hung up on him having a home and how she wanted to have one. Was weird, like she couldn't pick a side ever. She wanted to be a pet so much she kept trying to return him to his humans. Pissed me off. Then the public shaming happened. Little bite-sized powder puff talks to me like that.... the nerve. She's a walking chew toy and she tries to pull a move on me, should have taken it out on her, not him.”

“You could have got him killed.”

“He looks enough like you, think no one has ever seen him, wouldn't call your people?”

Silence.

“Yeah, ring them up and say put a collar on him, ship him home. If he was really a junkyard dog, he'd be back and pitching the new collar my way.” He lowered his voice. “Not like I ever hated him, hated her in him, hated Angel being weird around him. He's like you, he stole the spotlight bumbling around being a smiling mess of laid back dumb – you know there's a lot to hate about you, but there's a lot more to love. It's the only reason you're not dead twenty times over by now.”

“Tricks, too.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

He can feel the tension, it wafts between them, tight and coiling. The tricks likely didn't help, showing him up only had incensed Buster into taking it out on Scamp. “Really screwed the pooch.”

“Then she left with her humans and pup.”

“So...”

“I'm still thinking on it.

“Look, Tramp, it's not like – I – I, screw it. What's _your_ plan now?”

What was his plan now? “Exist? Live? Here to there, day to day. Like I've always done. Well, like I always did.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It's what you've been doing, isn't it?”

Buster let out a huff and laid down. Stretching his limbs out. “Yeah.”

“You stole my food, didn't you?”

“Yeah.”

 _Knew where I was, that I was alone. Could have done like you said, snapped my neck and left the body. Ended me. Didn't._ Creepy, but somehow reassuring. He lowered himself down, to the ground. Grass tickled his stomach and his nose. “Left the dead animals?”

“... Talking to you only reminds me how much I hate talking. It's stupid and foolish, and what old dogs on hills who howl all night do; talk endless tails and wag their tails and act like they got such deep profound wisdom. Like street smarts are it, nothing else matters, looks and papers don't do nothing out in the real world.”

“I missed this.”

Black ears raise upward, “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Tramp.”

“I said,” he began, “I missed this. You, me, I forgot how it felt, and here I am remembering, and – it's hard, I get it. I fell in love, you got jealous, that's me simplifying it. Wiping turds under a rug for someone else to step on,” his company snorted, unamused, “you get what I mean. I blew you off, in front of my kid, in front of Angel. No one is here anymore, Buster. I've got nothing but time, and it's going to be split now. You can have half my time. How's that sound?”

“Better than nothing.” 

The great rottweiler doberman mix rolled onto his back and began to scratch an itch. It was an infuriating experience, and such was written upon his face, minutes nearly became an hour and nothing had come of the action.

Tramp rose and walked over, tenderly sitting himself beside the writhing displeased dog. When those light brown eyes looked his way, Tramp leaned forward, motioning to scratch the itch for him. Obviously not having fixed it himself, Buster presented his shoulders and back and leaned into the claws running up and down where the itch was. 

“She's not coming back. Nor my humans.” Leaning in to graze fur and pull tangles long neglected, he breathed in the smell of memories long shelved away. “Until she does, I'll need some company.”

“Buster's the best type of company to have, but be warned, Tramp, I'm trouble.”

He relaxed himself, remembered another time in another place, pulled free snarls and tangles and ran his teeth through fur until it was neatened. “Buster's trouble is my trouble.”


	15. Epilogue

The snow fell heavy near Christmas. Three mixed breed dogs glanced out the window, then two went back to playing with a pair of Siamese cats. The last squinted out through the glass to peer beyond the falling flakes.

“I think dad's visiting us again.” Danielle said.

“It's, like, the third time this week.” Collette replied, unphased by the news.

Annette, raising her gaze just slightly from Si, added, “And, like, the fifty-hundreth time this year.”

“He cares a lot about us.” She snapped, annoyed. Angel repeated her words as well, only her voice held that tone, the one that came when they didn't appreciate their dad. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Annette said, batting paws with AM. 

“More than mom does, I bet.” Collette said with a huff.

Lady had visited none, apparently Jim Jr was a handful and Scamp was always noisy. “Teenagers” the three had said with eye rolls going full circle, despite being that themselves. Though they talked through the phone, making the humans scowl at so much barking, they found it hard to really feel attached to their mother. Weaned long before she'd left, they were dogs, and the Tramp was their father. In soft jokes they muttered maybe they really were their mom's looks and secretly their dad's personality. For her absence no longer shook them.

They did still miss Scamp. But it wasn't the same as they had when he was a puppy and ran away. They didn't lay around and mope.

Life went on.

“The humans aren't fair, are they, Col'?” 

“No, An', they're not fair. Not at all.”

Collette tsked, “Ditching poor dad, taking mom and our only brother. Traveling so far away. Why Aunt Sarah's always waiting on calls and fussing. She's truning grayer by the month!”

Annette bobbed her head. “By the week even. Not even a spa can undo the wrinkles!”

“Guys,” Danielle breathed.

“I bet, An, she wishes they'd stayed here.”

“Bet she does too.”

“Guys.”

“Mom and dad could have helped the humans find us homes apart if they needed to.” Annette continued.

“Right, An, and Jim Dear and Darling could have found some real nice houses and people, maybe even a model! I'd love to belong to a model.”

“Yeah,” she batted her paws back and forth, touching the pads of them to Si and Am's. “But then we'd not have such nice company with these stylish cats.”

“ _Guys!_ ” Danielle snapped.

“What?!” All four, two dogs, and two cats snapped.

“Dad's coming.”

“We know.”

She pulled her face from the window, fog blocking her view outside. “He's not alone, and it's not mom.”

“Of course it's not.” Collette began, then whipped her head around, likewise Annette and Si did the same. Angel stayed off to herself in the corner of the room, eating. The three huddled to the window, wiping condensation off the glass pane with their long-furred paws and peering through the thick white flakes. “Whoa. You weren't kidding.”

“He looks really happy.”

Collette nodded her head. “Duh, he's been for a long while now. Happier than I think I ever saw him.”

“Do you think that's why?” Annette asked, nose smashed against cold glass. She was trying to see more, but it was impossible in the weather.

“Has to be.”

They fumbled their way to the dog door, it stuck due to cold, but gave with Collette and Danielle's conjoined efforts. The doormat was sticky, but had been swept clean of snow, and there was a shoveled path to the gate. Annette and Collete went out first, and met their father right as he opened the gate. Beside him was the biggest dog they'd ever seen. 

“Whoa.” Annette breathed.

Collette took a deep breath. “More like, like whoa.”

“Hello Annette, Collette. Hope it's okay that I brought a friend.” Tramp said, not looking the least bit cold. In fact, he looked very warm. 

“Friend.” Annette repeated, then bobbed her head. “Yeah, like, yeah. It's fine, dad. Hello mister.”

The big dog scrunched his face up, looking disturbed and impressed. “Mister. Naw, that's not something anyone calls me. They normally just should out, 'hey, you, buster'. That's my name. I'm Buster.”

“Yeah, An. Call him Buster.” Collette scolded. “Hello, Buster.” 

“Hello to yourself, little lady,” he was shot a look by her father, “Collette.” He turned his head and smiled. “Annette.” 

“Where's your sister?” Tramp asked, tilting his head. 

They made a dash for the dog door, then turned to look back. First Annette went in. “Inside with her girlfriend, like usual.” Then Collette followed.

Buster shot Tramp a glance, and he rolled his eyes as they walked, the gate pushed shut but not latched yet. “I'll get the door.” 

“No, let me try.” He replied. Without yanking or jerking, Buster gripped the handle and turned his head. It rotated, then clicked. He gave it a gentle pull, one that required restraint, and it clicked again. Door opened, Tramp entered after wiping his paws. Buster scoffed, but mimicked, then grabbed the other side's handle and pulled it behind him. It slid shut, but did not click. Perfect.

There came a growl, and when Tramp and Buster followed it, they found Angel, curled up on Danielle's legs, hackles raised and teeth bared, right at the rottweiler doberman mix. Guarding the larger mix, Angel looked like a pet of a pet, but was fully ready to start screaming and barking. Danielle looked lost, as if she was clueless. 

Tramp broke the tension before his boyfriend's hackles could raise and hell could be unleashed. “I was thinking we could spend some of the Christmas time together.”

_”Why's he here?!”_

He blinked, then relaxed, a jovial smile upon Tramp's face as he scratched behind his ears. “Christmas is a time for holiday traditions, Angel. Family. Food. Warm fires. Being together.”

Annette and Collette began to whisper, then giggle. The Siamese cats were puffed like balloons with fat tails, but yielded to the gossip. No one was reacting which meant the large threat was not a large threat to them, or the mouthy yellow powder puff was being moody like normal. 

“Angel?” Danielle asked, confused. 

“Let's start over.” Tramp said. “Christmas is a time for family. This is Buster, he's my boyfriend. Your sisters told me you have a girlfriend, Danielle.” He nodded his head, approvingly. “So. Spending the holidays together. Any problems?”

“No,” Collete said.

Annette shook her head and smiled at both males, “No.”

“No?” Danielle questioned, watching the smaller dog guarding her huff and breath slower.

Angel deflated, but looked guarded, which neither seemed to acknowledge. Returned to her passive self, she flattened down and looked at her paws in more interest. “No.”

Buster nudged Tramp. Tramp nudged back. Both felt a tension twist and consume the air. No one was breaking it.

“He's a nice looking boyfriend, dad.” Annette said.

Collette nodded her head. “Yeah, dad. You found a nice boyfriend. How long have you two known each other?”

“Oh.” Buster laughed, leaning against gray fur and all but preening himself as Angel watched in disbelief. “We met long before you were born.”

“Whoa.”

“Like,” Annette chimed in, “Before he knew mom?”

“Yes, would you girls like to hear the story?”

Six canine eyes became locked upon him, and four feline ones watched as they slunk away. Angel's were narrowed, confused, but comfortable against her girlfriend enough not to really pay Buster any mind.

“Yes! Tell us how you and dad first met!”

“Then,” Collette said, cooing, “Tell us how you fell in love!”

“Yes, yes, yes! Must be a romance!”

“It, er,” Tramp forced a smile, leaned against and trying not to fret over censoring things, “It's a long story.”

“So's how you met mom, and you told us it all the time as puppies.”

Danielle nodded, tail thumping the floor. “We're growing up dad, tell us how you and Buster got together!”

“Yeah, yeah!”

“I'll tell. He'll correct me, if he must.” Buster moved closer, sitting before the three, he could see Lady on the surface, but narrowing his eyes, traces of Tramp appeared. Small, tiny specks. Pieces of the dog he loved and adored. “It's the tale of two street dogs, and it's full of swearing and violence.”

“We can handle it.”

Collette swooned dramatically, the cats hiss-laughed behind her. “Tall, dark, mysterious, and deadly. Dad really found a dog just like him!” 

“Anyway.” Buster cleared his throat, long nails running along the floor as he flexed, obviously new to being indoors. “It was on the streets, your dad was making his way along, not a care in the world...” 

Everyone leaned in to listen, even Angel. She'd never heard the real tale. Despite her history and discomfort, curiosity had wormed its way in. So she too, was left to hear, understand, and accept the truth. A tale never told by both together, slowly began to get explained. As both larger dogs sat pressed together, like they were always meant to be that way. But events had divided them. 

Tramp breathed in the smell of human housing and street dog musk. He had many dog years to make up for, and a lot of long cold nights to enjoy. But he knew, they'd make it through and see spring again. Then they could really make some fresh trouble. A year's worth, and then some. The kind they both would share.

 _For now._ He pressed closer, somehow. Ears lifted upward, like his daughter's. _Mouth shut, ears up._ He would never stop loving the sound of Buster's voice. He'd missed it so much. How had he ever stopped listening to it?

 

Buster beamed with pride. The entire room was eyes on him as he spoke. Even his mate was latched on and enraptured. A wholeness came upon him. Like he could be some big deal to these pups. Like he could capture their imaginations with this story. Like tales of The Tramp had, but these were tales of Buster and The Tramp now. New ones. They were Tramp's, and that meant they were his in a way too. It felt right for him, and he never wanted to lose that feeling again.

So he swore he wouldn't, no matter what it cost him.


End file.
